


Isn't It Funny?

by Kaelynisfree



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Hawke chosen at Adament, Red Hawke, Rivalfriendship, Toxic Friendships, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 15:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7111624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaelynisfree/pseuds/Kaelynisfree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was always something not right with his relationship with Hawke, the way they yelled and argued and always made each other tense (or maybe it was just Varric). It's a little funny, he only figured it out after the man died, but life's shitty like that sometimes, isn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Isn't It Funny?

It was a little funny, ironic a better word, that Varric had always been a little angry at Hawke. While Varric felt a strong need to protect him, (some might say there was even love there), Varric often couldn’t stand “The Champion of Kirkwall.”

The Champion: arrogant, loud, and always with the “stab first, ask questions later”. That was always Bartrand’s style, not Varric’s. And yet, there was something about Hawke’s anti-hero personality that kept Varric around.

Of course, he changed it in the book. Thedas wasn’t ready for the real Hawke yet, and he supposes, neither was Hawke. The bastard performs one good deed of heroism, gets himself trapped in the fade. It’s times like these, when Hawke almost lives up to the name, Varric hates the most.

“Alright kid, let’s see what you’ve got,” he says to Cole one day as they scout the Storm Coast. It’s different than the Wounded Coast. The Storm Coast is always wet, leaving the air fresh with rain. Compare that too the Wounded Coast, which was always temperate, lingering with the smell of what Varric had always assumed were the dead and maybe the hopes and dreams a few hundred deceased slavers and bandits. Not the Storm Coast though. That smell? It's just the rain.

_You can’t send them in, Hawke. There isn’t enough of us._

Aveline would have protested, asked them to trust her people, but Aveline hadn’t there. Just Varric and Hawke taking a stroll up the coast.

_I will not die today, Varric. If you don’t like it, go back to Kirkwall. Run to Aveline, even. We can do this without you._

Most of the squad survived the assault, but Varric can still see Lieutenant Harley leaning over another guardswoman, saying a soft prayer. The _was_ a pang of regret, but for some reason, he managed to convince himself Hawke made the right decision. 

A wave crashes on the shore and Cole looks expectantly at Varric. “Knock, knock.”

Varric shuts the door to that memory and returns safely to the present. He grins. “Whose there?”

He’s sitting on a dock in Redcliffe, waiting for the Inquisitor to finish her shopping. Cole sits next to him and swings his legs, swishing his feet into the waters of Lake Calenhad.

The docks at Recliffe aren’t as sturdy as the ones in Kirkwall; it sways under their weight.

“The Inquisition,” Cole replies, carefully.

“The Inquisition who?”

Cole takes a moment to regroup, to remember the joke, and Varric stares at the warped wood of the dock.

Similar to that of Kirkwall, although he’d doubt he’d ever find an Arishok, or an easily bribed harbormaster’s assistant there in Redcliffe.

He remembers watching Hawke carefully press the knife into the man’s throat, fear clutching his own. Hawke was new to Kirkwall. He didn’t know how things were done.

_You can’t just go around threatening people, Hawke._

_I think I’ll do just fine, Varric._ Hawke was so sure, he even wiped his knife off on his shirt before sheathing it. Saving it for later, probably.

_You know,_ Varric said, trying to contain his anger. He was worried about his reputation and Hawke’s. He couldn’t understand how Hawke could act to brashly, but he would learn that was just who Hawke was. _You keep pulling stunts like that, one day, you’ll find yourself alone, no-one to back you up._

He stares at the waters of Calenhad and doesn’t think about Hawke in the fade, surrounded by nothing. He doesn’t think about Hawke offering to stay, to make that heroic sacrifice. A great ending to a story to be sure, but Varric is so used to making things up, he almost resented Hawke for taking that away from too. The bastard.

At Skyhold, Varric hands Bianca to Cole, carefully slipping the bolt out of the chamber. He wishes Hawke had done that for him a long time ago.

Bianca shudders and the empty click causes the templar before them to shudder and collapse.

It is eerily familiar, except for the fact that there is mercy and closure. Varric knows it’s not for the templar’s sake but for Coles. Varric still cannot shake the feeling of regret when he released the bolt that killed his brother. 

For Hawke, there was always an easier way. It almost always involved a knife at someone’s throat. And there was a time when Varric would have thought this Templar deserved exactly that.

Varric sees the pain behind Cole’s eyes as the templar runs. Whatever the Templar deserved, Cole did not deserve the pain to follow.

He claps a hand on Cole’s shoulder and gives him a sympathetic smile. “Come on, kid. Let’s go for a walk.”

The two sit in the Herald’s rest at the top of the stairs, their legs hanging from between the bars of the banister as they sit and listen to the minstrel sing a ballad.

Varric had worked so hard on his stories of Hawke, Hawke resisting more than a rabid bronto. He’d hope that eventually Hawke would adopt these traits, but he never seemed to get the hang of looking two steps ahead instead of two feet in front of him. 

Cole continues his joke, slowly, carefully saying his words. “…Me, and I’m telling this knock-knock joke.”

The more Hawke pushed away, the more Varric tried to pull himself closer. He couldn’t protect Hawke if if Hawke wouldn’t let him.

The minstrel plays a sour note and he clicks his tongue at Cole. “Uh, that was… closer. Keep trying.”

Obviously, it’s wrong to think ill of the dead, but at that moment, Varric couldn’t help but feel relief now that he was gone. As if the weight of the world (even if it wasn’t his) was lifted. He had more to worry about than an angry apostate trying to prove himself to the world; things like red lyrium, the Inquisitor, _Bianca._ Oh, he definitely didn’t expect her to show up again.

It's as if suddenly everything is back in alignment. He can see how things connected, how they revolve around others, not just Hawke.

Varric wonders how Hawke never came to hate him, but lets his eyes flicker back to the singer. Not that it mattered, but it made a dwarf wonder.

The minstrel segues into another tale. Varric shifts and he can feel Cole’s eyes on him.

“Whose there?” Cole asks, tilting his head to the side.

Varric hesitates to answer. “I didn’t say knock knock, Kid.”

Cole doesn’t reply, turning back to watch the minstrel.

Varric clears his throat. This kid knows way too much, but Varric is definitely ok with not being the only one to see things. “Okay, kid. Let’s try this again.”

**Author's Note:**

> I really need to stop writing stuff about Varric. It's a problem really.
> 
> (someone mentioned how they never saw anything about rivalry!Varric so I aimed to fix it.


End file.
